Circumstance
by TheHamsterInMyMind
Summary: Sometimes, an unexpected twist occurs that changes the entire story, but would the entire world change? Or are some things just inevitable?


** Disclaimer:** I own nothin'. Feedback will always be appreciated. () I hope you enjoy it. **  
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**Circumstance**

Can one little change make all the difference? What if one little twist came where one wasn't expected? Would we be able to re-imagine the entire world? Maybe… Maybe not…

_"Hey __Terry__ Yeah, I have to go soon. John Dee__ is coming to pick mom __up,__ and we're going back to Texas with him." He paused as he listened to his best friend babble on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I thought that staying in Oklahoma with my aunt would help her after he left, but she seems to want to go back and try to work things out__Plus__… John Dee__ seems __to really __mean__ it this time. I think that we might finally be able to stay__ together__ for good." Once again, he stopped to listen. "Congratulations, so you finally got the guts to ask that redhead you kept talking about out? See, I told you she would agree. __I'm__ sorry I can't meet your new girlfriend, but hey, dude… good luck. __Yeah, bye__."_

He really should have kept in touch better… Now, as he stood in front of the recent grave of his friend, he could only feel the regret and guilt of not even knowing how sick Terry had really been. This piled on top of his recent divorce made him feel years older than he was. With a hand rubbing the back of his neck, he turned away from the flowers, too brightly colored (at least to him) against the pale gray of the granite.

Ah, divorce… It was still hard to imagine that after several years of struggling to make their marriage survive, he and his former dental hygienist just couldn't make it work. Somehow, they could never find a point of stability. Sure, he still loved her, but they had both agreed that it would be better for Henry not to have to grow up seeing them arguing constantly. They separated as friends, and he would still see his little boy on the weekends. However, it wasn't the same… The small house that he had shared with his family, warm and comfortable if a bit cluttered (usually by his wife increasingly large collection of beanie babies), was now a cavernous prison, too empty with the space he once wanted and a silence once sought after. Peace and quiet meant nothing to the lonely.

As he marched back up the hill in the dry brush, past scraggly trees and sturdy bramble, sweat began to slide down his tan skin, making him uncomfortably sticky.

Eager to get into his car and place the air conditioner on full blast, his key was already in the ignition when a memory flashed in his mind. It was of a slender red head, grief-stricken and clutching tightly to a teenage boy, gangly, just reaching puberty. He had his father's brown hair and his mother's intensely blue eyes. Eyes that Brock had only seen briefly in those few moments that his best friend's widow had glanced at him from the opposite side of the church and offered him a sad smile and nod… both of which had unexplainably made his heart skip. He assumed that it was just the sorrow he could see in her eyes, prodding his own grief. 'Tomorrow, I'll drop by tomorrow.'

With that resolution, he turned the key in the ignition and took off down the road to the motel.

XxX

Following through with his decision, he stood in front of the small Holliway house the next morning, fidgeting and getting ready to knock only to have the door open up and reveal an amused woman behind it… "What are you doing?"

Brock was just about to explain when his words froze in his throat. The fiery red curls that had fallen halfway down her back yesterday was now just barely brushing against her shoulders in slighter waves. "You're Brock Hart aren't you? Terry talked about you constantly." A brief shadow passed across her eyes. "Especially near the end… He always liked talking about that crazy summer that he first met me… and you always came up as his best buddy." Backing up, she offered him a silent invitation. "Please don't mind the mess. I've been trying to clean up."

Brock glanced around the living room, one obviously filled with memories and the signs of someone slowly and, he glanced at the Kleenex next to the boxes, tearfully packing up those memories. "Is coffee okay?"

He quickly turned towards the kitchen where he could just barely make out the small silhouette. "Yeah, yeah, that's fine."

XxX

He couldn't help but think that this might have been a mistake as they sat awkwardly across from each other in silence. He glanced at the photos still nearby. "Where's your son?"

"Huh?" Reba snapped out of her own thoughts. "Oh! You mean Steven? He's at school. He insisted on not missing it despite the fact that the funeral was just yesterday." She chuckled. "I don't know what I would do without him. I know he's trying to act strong for me, and he's been mothering me ever since Terry passed on." Her eyes drifted to the photo that he had just been looking at. "You're probably thinking that I'm the worst mother in the world right now. It should be the other way around. I should be stronger… for him."

"No! No! Not at all… Who knows? Maybe taking care of you is his way of dealing with this. I'm sure that as long as you're here for him, he'll be just fine."

Reba eyed him critically before smiling. "Thanks Brock. Terry was right. You are a good friend." She reached over to brush his hand softly before retreating back to her drink. "So what cat got your tongue before at the door? You looked like you were going to say something."

"Oh," his face flushed, "I was just surprised by the-" He gestured at his own hair.

Reba grinned, "I thought a change might do some good. Heck, everything's been changing lately." She fingered one loose strand. "What do you think?"

"It's… different."

Reba let out a light laugh, and Brock felt some of the weight on his shoulders slip off… He was startled by the effect this woman seemed to have on him. 'No wonder Terry fell so madly in love on first sight.'

"I'm sorry." She wiped away some of the tears that had leaked out in her laughter. "It's just that I got the same exact response from Steven when he saw me this morning."

"It's okay. You should definitely laugh more though. It'll probably make everyone happier." Brock smiled. He sincerely meant what he said. Then, something registered in his mind as he glanced around the room again. "You seem to be doing a lot more packing than just 'cleaning.'"

Reba looked away and followed his gaze to the already full boxes stacked in one corner. "That's because I'm not just 'cleaning'… I was thinking of moving."

"Where?"

"I was thinking of going to Texas. One of my best friends is living in Houston right now. It would be a nice new start. Mike, you remember Terry's brother? Anyway, he would take good care of the bar, and I could find another teaching job there, and maybe continue a bit of my singing. Meanwhile, Steven could learn to stretch his wings a bit more." Her gaze met Brock's eyes, and he could see her determination to make this work. "It would be a new start."

This caught Brock's attention. "Well, if you ever need any help, be sure to look me up. I live there too." He handed her his business card.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"No problem, and Reba? I mean it. If you need anything at all, just give me a call."

"I know."

He stood and readied to leave when she reached to hug him gently. "Thank you. I know this must have been hard for you, but I think Terry would have been glad." She smiled up at him before showing him to the door. Brock was about to leave when something suddenly hit him again. "Reba? Your best friend… It wouldn't happen to be Lori Ann Parks would it?"

Her eyes lit up. "Why yeah! Do you know her?"

Brock chuckled nervously. "I dated her once."

Reba's eyes narrowed, and he could see a glint of protectiveness rise up in them. He quickly put up his hands. "Nevermind, just… don't mention me alright?" With that, he ran out to his car. "That woman was the she-devil. I can't believe they're best friends."

Shaking his head, he drove to the bar to see Mike and say a quick good-bye. After all, it wouldn't be right to leave without saying good-bye twice. Mike had always been the one left behind in his and Terry's teenage exploits.

Stopping by, he saw two men sitting outside on the grungy benches. He was going to ignore them when he heard one of them mention Reba's name.

"You know, that red-headed gal of his was always too independent for my liking. She was always so stuck up, practically had him like a lovesick puppy with a chain around his neck. I wonder what she and that boy is going to do now that he's gone. She's a pretty one, that much I'll admit."

"Oh come off it, Stan, you're just still bitter about her turning you down so 'forcefully' that night when you got too drunk."

"Well," Stan muttered to himself, "just because I grabbed her doesn't mean that she had to kick me _there_."

The punch came from nowhere, and Stan found himself on the ground clutching at his already swelling jaw. Brock was riled up, but that didn't mean that he could ignore the pain shooting up his right hand at the moment, too distracted to see Stan's companion lunge at him. Luckily, Mike grabbed him before he could tackle Brock to the ground. "Just what is going out here?"

The man he grabbed roughly pulled his arm free. "We were just talking when this lunatic came out of nowhere and landed one on Stan."

Mike looked at Brock and instantly recognized him. Turning back to the man before him, who was now helping Stan off the ground, he bit out, "Knowing you two like I do, you most likely deserved whatever you got. Now scat before I have to call the police again."

Pulling Brock inside, he quickly studied his hand. "You should know better than to aim a punch at the jaw. Hard on hard doesn't work that well. You're lucky that you are a relatively weak puncher or else, you could have broken your hand. As it is, it looks like you just bruised your knuckles." He walked into the back. "I'll grab some ice to reduce the swelling."

When he returned and slapped the pack of ice onto Brock's now purpling hand, Brock couldn't restrain the small string of "ow's" that escaped. "Oh, stop being such a baby!"

"Hey, you're not the one with a practically broken fist."

"So, why DID you punch Stan out anyway?"

"You don't want to know."

"I do."

Brock glared angrily at wall as he recalled the words. "He basically called your brother a dog and your sister-in-law a… a…"

"Stop. You're right. I _don't_ want to know, because right now, I'm tempted to grab a shotgun and…"

"It would be a waste of good ammo."

Mike let out a laugh. "You know, that's the only reason why I'm still sitting here right now." Brock remained silent, unrecognized emotions still raging inside of him.

'Why had I felt so angry? It wasn't really what they said about Terry that set me off… It was what they said about Reba that bothered me the most, but why?'

"Brock?" Mike's eyes pierced him.

"Yeah?"

"Take care of her okay? I know that she's moving your way, and I can't help but worry about her sometimes. She just has that sort of an effect on people. She's tough, but even the toughest person in the world can only take so much of a beating." Mike paused. "Terry would have wanted you to watch out for her. Don't think about it so much."

"Thanks Mike."

"No problem, now how about a quick drink on me?"

"Nah, I have to get back on the road soon. I have some appointments coming up that I can't miss. Plus, this is going to be the first weekend I get to be with Henry since the divorce, and I definitely can't miss that."

"Hey, it's your loss." Mike grinned and tipped his glass towards Brock once before up-ending its contents down his own throat.

XxX

Despite Mike's words, Brock was plagued by his thoughts and feelings on the trip home. 'Heck, Terry only died a week ago, and I'm thinking about his wife in more than just a friendly way. He was one of my best friends! I shouldn't even be considering this!' Determined to believe this, he convinced himself that he only cared for Reba as a friend or sibling, nothing more, and locked the memories of that day in the church where he met her eyes, the burning imprints left by her 'barely-there' touches, and the first sound of her musical laughter into a secret compartment of his heart, to be treasured but hopefully forgotten.


End file.
